


And it's windy weather, boys

by bittybatkid



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, MINOR DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE, vague mentions of the briarwoods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 07:24:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19865737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittybatkid/pseuds/bittybatkid
Summary: A voice in the back of Percival’s head pipes up,Now, Percival, how do you know you’re on a pirate ship? This could all be a big mistake, to which he gets the great joy of replying,Well, voice in my head, the large amount of shouting about ‘give us all of your valuables’ and the massive party going on above decks gives me a pretty good indication of what kind of ship I’m on.He’s heard stories, of course, of what pirates do to stowaways. His tutors had talked about pirates and what they did and Percival has an inkling that he’s going to know a lot more than he wants to before he manages to find a way off the ship.





	And it's windy weather, boys

**Author's Note:**

> I've started making my way through campaign one and take a guess who my favorite character is:) Title is taken from the sea shanty Fish in the Sea. Got listening to the sea shanties from Assassins Creed Black Flag and now here we are.
> 
> Beta read by the wonderful [IllusionOfDeath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllusionOfDeath/pseuds/IllusionOfDeath)

Percival supposes that he probably should have checked what kind of ship he was sneaking onto before he took a mad dash across the gangplank and down into the belly of the ship. He probably also should have looked at what kind of town he was in. He probably should have also listened to the talk of the townspeople. There are lots of things he probably should have done to keep himself out of this situation—but he didn’t, and now here he is, stuck in the belly of a pirate ship. A voice in the back of Percival’s head pipes up, _Now, Percival, how do you know you’re on a pirate ship? This could all be a big mistake,_ to which he gets the great joy of replying, _Well, voice in my head, the large amount of shouting about ‘give us all of your valuables’ and the massive party going on above decks gives me a pretty good indication of what kind of ship I’m on._ He’s heard stories, of course, of what pirates do to stowaways. His tutors had talked about pirates and what they did and Percival has an inkling that he’s going to know a lot more than he wants to before he manages to find a way off the ship. 

There’s a creak of the trapdoor being opened and the thump of someone large ignoring the last few rungs of the ladder, dropping into the hold. Percival curls himself smaller behind the barrel he’s hidden himself behind, clutching the weapon, the gun, _the List_ , he made tighter. Whoever’s in the hold is whistling until a voice breaks through, although the whistling continues. “This one, Scanlan?” The voice is deep and rumbles through the hold. Percival sneaks a glance out from behind the barrel. The figure is massive and hulking, much larger than any Percival’s seen before, and has another, much smaller figure on his shoulder.

“Yeah, the twins must have found something really nice on that ship. This is the good shit.” This voice in comparison is much higher. Maybe a halfling? Or a gnome. He’s not too sure. There’s a grunt as the figure lifts the barrel over his head and out of the hatch. There’s a thunk as the barrel is placed on the floor above and then the telltale sound of a barrel rolling away. 

“Grog! Watch which way you put barrels down.” The voices stop abruptly as the big one, Grog, closes the hatch behind him. 

Percival extracts himself from the ball he had forced himself into, joints popping. His stomach growls and it’s only then that he remembers that he hasn’t eaten anything for three days. Nothing since swiping some food off of a table in a tavern and being chased out onto this boat. He thanks the gods that it waited this long to make noise and pries open the barrel he’s been crouching behind. It’s filled with nails and rope. 

Percy curses under his breath and moves onto the next box. This one holds fine cloth and still no food. It’s in the sixth container that he finds success: dried meats. He swipes a few before carefully replacing the lid and scuttling back to his hiding place. It is, quite honestly, the worst thing he has ever eaten but it tastes like the most wonderful meal prepared by the cooks at home. 

Over the next two days, Percival makes himself a sort of nest, rearranging the barrels to provide cover from the door and making access to food easier. By the fourth day, he’s nearly out of his mind with boredom and takes to digging through the rest of the hold. It’s on the seventh day that he finds the floorboard that can be lifted and finds the locked case with light spilling out of the seams. He turns it, eyes adjusting to the increase in light. As he turns it around, he hears footsteps begin to make their way toward the trapdoor to the hold. He quickly puts the box back beneath the floorboard and moves back to his own hiding place. 

The trapdoor creaks open and the same large man as last time jumps down into the hold. He shouts back up “What was it you needed?” There’s a response Percival can’t make out, and then “Alright, the one with the squiggly lines on the front, yeah?” Another response and then the man is moving closer to Percival’s hiding space, holding a lantern. 

Percival shrinks down in fear, hoping desperately that he would not get caught being a stowaway on a thrice-damned pirate ship. The man stops a few feet away from Percival and he hardly dares to breathe. He places the lantern down on top of the barrel that Percival knows contains black powder and an involuntary gasp makes its way past his lips. The man freezes with his arm inside a barrel, “What was that?” He picks up the lantern and begins to take slow path towards Percival’s hiding place.

Before he can get very far, a voice shouts from above, “Grog! What’s taking you so long?”

“Coming, Pike! Just thought I heard something down here.” Grog finishes grabbing what he needed out of the barrel and closes the lid before heading back up top. 

Percival breathes a quick thanks and then spends the rest of what he assumes is the day missing the light that the lantern had brought. It had been a while since he’s gotten any sort of decent light down here, except for the sliver that makes it through the edges of the hatch. 

He falls into a fitful sleep that night and wakes up stifling a scream. The endless dark is almost enough to make him turn himself in, just to get back into the light. But no. Percival will be damned—well, even more damned, anyway—if he lets the last de Rolo get killed by pirates for stowing away on their ship just because he can’t handle a little dark.

More time passes. It’s getting harder to tell the days apart as they pass in the everdarkness of the hold. Until one day, at least he thinks it’s day, there’s the sounds of shouting from above deck. Normally, that wouldn’t be much of an unusual experience—there is almost constant shouting above deck. But this time? This sounds different. This sounds like a fight. 

He picks up his gun, makes sure it’s loaded, and waits. Not long after, a man comes rushing into the room. He starts rifling through the barrels and tapping against the floorboards.

“Where’s you’re secret compartment, lovely? I know you have one. Ah!” The man pulls up the floorboard and pulls out the box within. Percival leans out further than he should to look and when the man turns around to leave, Percival realizes that, yes, he is quite visible. 

The man rushes forward, drawing a dagger out from his belt. Percival scrambles up from the floor and fumbles with his gun, his hands shaking. The man gets into range and lashes out. A burning slash across his stomach is opened while the man in front of him just grins. He goes to strike again and Percival manages to take aim and fires, point blank, into the man’s forehead. The man falls backwards, eyes lifeless before he hits the floor. Percival takes a moment, reloads his gun, and places it back into his belt. Panic wells up in his throat but he forces it back down. The box lies on top of one of the crates, forgotten in the man’s desire to kill him. He takes the box and places it back into its hiding space before going back, bending down, and pulling the man’s body over his shoulders. 

With a grunt, he pulls himself and the body up the ladder and out of the hold. The hallway before him has a clear, entrance onto the deck, with sunlight streaming into the hallway. The sounds of fighting from outside are quieter now and, as he gets closer, he can hear a gruff voice from out in the sunlight.

“- got something down in that hold of yours, something you don’t want to let go of. Something I want. Make this easy and step aside, Captain Vex’ahlia. I don’t want to have to hurt your crew, but I will if I have to.” Percival may not be able to see the man but he can hear the snear that marrs his face.

“You’ll never manage to get past me, so why are you even trying? You know I’m better than you, Captain Krieg.” The name comes out sounding like a curse from the woman’s mouth, for that certainly is the voice of a woman. He continues moving closer, arms beginning to ache with the strain. He misjudges the width of the corridor and slams the body’s head into the wall. The fight outside stops.

“I know my abilities,” there’s the sound of clashing steel again. “I don’t need to get past you, just stall you enough for Waldark to finish searching your hold—and, if I’m not mistaken, this is him now.” 

Percival steps out into the sun, the first time he’s seen it in weeks, and takes in the scene before him. Directly in front of him a woman and a man, Captains Vex’ahlia and Krieg if he’d have to guess, stand, blades crossed, with Captain Krieg looking expectantly towards him. Farther away, what he would guess is the rest of the crew of the ship is surrounded at blade point. 

“So, am I correct in assuming this is Waldark?” Percival lets the body he’s carrying drop to the floor. He levels his gun at Krieg. “I would advise you that this ship is not so easily taken, and, unless you’d like to end up like your man here,” he kicks the body to turn it so it’s face is to the sky, “I’d leave this ship alone.” 

Krieg goes to rush forward, a yell tearing its way out of his throat. Percy fires, once, twice. With the first shot, Krieg loses his footing. He stumbles back. Back into the rail of the boat. With the second shot, Krieg falls back, flipping over himself and lands with a splash into the water below.

There’s a pause before what Percival recognizes as Grog shouts, “What are we waiting for? Fuck them up!” and all hell breaks loose.

The next few minutes pass by in flashes. He’s fighting back to back with the captain, bending down to pick up Krieg’s dropped rapier, taking a hit meant for the gnome, and then it’s over. All of Krieg’s men are driven back over the gangplank with Krieg still floundering in the water below. 

“Well that went spectacularly well.” The gnome, for Percival can see now that he’s a gnome and not a halfling, floats over on a massive, purple hand, holding out his own. “Scanlan Shorthalt, this fine vessel’s shantyman , at your service.”

Percival takes it. “Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III, at yours.”

“That, darling, is a mouthful. I think we’ll just call you Percy.” The captain circles around, coming to stop by Scanlan. “Now, not that I’m not thankful for the assist, but what exactly were you doing on my ship? And what is that contraption you’re wielding? Some sort of handheld cannon?”

The rest of the crew comes to stand behind her, closing ranks. “I wanted to get away from where I was and a ship seemed like the best way to do it. And this,” he turns the List over in his hands— “is a gun. I made it.”

“Well, we’ve been missing someone to man the cannons ever since Tiberius left, so, “Captain Vex’ahlia claps her hands together, “all in favor of adding Percy to our crew say ‘aye’.” 

“It’s Percival.” Even he knows it’s a token protest.

She reaches out to pat his cheek. “It’s cute that you think you have any say in this, _Percy_.” She turns back to her crew, “I’ll ask once again, who says ‘aye’?”

Percy. It’s not great, but he supposes he can get used to it. Maybe it’s better this way, more distance from home.

Percy watches as, one by one, the crew adds their agreement, until the only one who hasn’t spoken is a man who looks so alike to Captain Vex’ahlia they could only be related. He looks steadily in Percy’s face when he talks, even as his words are directed elsewhere, “Are you sure, Vex? We hardly know anything about him or what he’s running from.”

“Have some faith, Vax. If he does turn out to be evil we can always just throw him overboard.” Vex’s smile turns sharp and she eyes him, “and besides, even you have to admit he is rather pretty. We could use something nice to look at around here.”

Vax nods, “Aye.” There’s a sigh. “ He can join.”

Vex turns back to him. “How about it then, join a pirate crew?”

He supposes there’s much worse places to be, like back on Ripley’s table. “Why not? Got nothing else better to do.” 

“Well then, Percy, welcome to the crew of the fine ship _Vox Machina_ , the best goddamn pirates to sail these seas.” 

A cheer goes up from the crew, and Vex smiles at him and yes, he could get used to this. 

  


**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on my [Tumblr](https://bittybatkid.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and Comments are always appreciated!


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